


Do You How Do?

by Frejennix, Lalijinx



Series: The Other Side of the Mirror [1]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Light/Dark Sides Switch, Background Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Background Logic | Logan Sanders, Background Morality | Patton Sanders, Confused Thomas Sanders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Swearing, Therapy, Thomas Sanders has ADHD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frejennix/pseuds/Frejennix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalijinx/pseuds/Lalijinx
Summary: A conversation long overdue, the first step on a long journey, and seven characters that are completely different...Except for how they are exactly the same.(Episode 1, Arc 1)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders & The Sides
Series: The Other Side of the Mirror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794676
Comments: 29
Kudos: 169
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective





	Do You How Do?

“Hello! New Patient! Do you how do? My name is Dr. Picani-”

“Um, why are you introducing yourself now? I’ve been here for like...fifteen minutes already.”

“But NOW, we’ve gotten all that pesky Picani paperwork out of the way, so why don't you tell me why you’re here, Thomas? Beep beep be doop, What’s the sitch?”

“Whaaat do you mean?”

“You’d been seeing your last therapist every month for...a little over five years?”

“That’s right.”

“Well that is a pretty long time, almost as long as The Animaniacs were on television before they were so tragically taken from us. What did you talk about with him?”

“Uh, exercises to deal with my ADHD mostly. Things I should be doing. Why I'm not doing them.”

“When were you diagnosed?”

“Middle school, I think? I went on meds for a couple of years but...I didn't like them. Didn't like how they made me feel.”

“I see here that you don't take them anymore? Did they stop working for you?”

“No, they worked, I guess. When I started high school, I made a deal with my parents. Behavioral therapy in exchange for not taking meds.”

“And that worked for you?”

“It made them happy.”

“But you stopped the therapy, too?”

“Once I went to college, yeah. It was just...easier.”

“If it was easier, why have you decided to come back to therapy now?”

"I've just been... having these weird thoughts lately."

"Like is any of this for real? Or not?"

"Kinda - nice Kingdom Hearts reference, by the way.”

“Thyank you.” 

“But more like... disconnected. With myself."

“Hmm. Disconnected how?”

“I don't know, and that’s part of the problem. I’ve got a good job, I work in an advertising firm. It's not the job I wanted to have when I was a kid, but I'm good at it, and it pays the bills. And I'm not looking for it to be, like, life fulfilling, but it's...I feel like I could be more. But at the same time, I don't feel like I understand myself enough to know what I should be doing.”

“So you feel disconnected with the way you think, and like you don't understand what is going on in your head?”

“Yeah, I guess I'm...hoping that therapy will give me a direction? Something to work towards?”

“...Thomas, I'm going to recommend you try an exercise, it's called cognitive restructuring…” 

* * *

Thomas sighed as he flopped on his couch with his laptop in front of him. It had been a while since he’d done any sort of journaling, even though it had helped a lot in his younger years. 

He still wasn't quite sure if he liked his new therapist, but he didn’t really have a choice. Thomas had stopped going to therapy when he’d gone off to college, and his previous therapist had retired in the meantime, so it wasn't like he could return to him. 

And Dr. Picani was nice enough, if a little weird and very into cartoons. Thomas felt like he could _become_ comfortable with him, given time, but this idea of cognitive restructuring felt a little… uncomfortable? Weird? He didn't really know what he was feeling, which he supposed was the whole reason he had to do this exercise, but at the same time, he didn't feel terribly confident. How was sitting and journaling supposed to help him ‘examine unhelpful thinking patterns’ and ‘devise new ways of reacting to problems’?

But. 

Dr. Picani had reminded him that therapy only works if he actually puts in the work, and if he really wanted to continue using cognitive behavioral therapy without meds, he had to actually _try_. 

And Thomas was adamant that he didn't want to try the meds again. 

So. Journalling. Keeping a thought record. Getting in touch with himself. Or something. 

He opened a blank document on his computer, the cursor blinking unassumingly at him. His hands hovered over the keys. 

How was he supposed to do this? Didn't Picani know he has never had a thought in his _life?_

“Ok, no. That’s not helpful _or_ true.” Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Ok. Getting in touch with myself. This is gonna be fine.” Thomas took a deep breath, and slowly released it, leaning back into the cushions. He closed his eyes, trying to keep up the pattern of deep breaths. 

_Getting in touch with myself._

_Listening to myself…_

_What am I trying to say?_

* * *

_It started with a whisper._

_A whisper so soft, easily dismissed at first._

_But it itched, and it would not be ignored. Eventually, they all put down what they were doing, putting aside work and turning off music, listening, waiting for it to happen again._

_And it did._

_Another whisper, still faint, but louder and more insistent than before._

_And unlike anything they had ever encountered._

_They gathered together, eyes wide, and there was no need to clarify that their compatriots had heard it too. It was written all over their faces._

_“He’s...he’s talking to us.”_

_“I...I believe he is.”_

_“He’s never done that before, right?”_

_“Oh yes, this is a completely_ **_common_ ** _occurrence. Don't you think I would have told you if I knew he could do this?”_

 _“What do we do? What...what_ **_can_ ** _we do?”_

_“I...I believe it's only polite to answer him.” The unquestioned leader looked at his younger comrades. “Stay here. Wait until I call you.”_

_“What are you going to say to him?”_

_“I have no idea.” the leader admitted. “but I believe I will figure it out.”_

* * *

Thomas was just about to give up this entire exercise as a bust. He had closed his laptop, rubbed his hands across his face, and started thinking about what he could say to Dr. Picani to convince him that he had given this a legitimate try. 

When suddenly, there was someone else in the living room with him.

Thomas kept his face covered as he processed the information his brain was supplying him with. It wasn't _possible_ ; it was just a mix of an overactive imagination and a jolt of anxiety brought on by thinking about lying to his therapist. There was no way anyone was in his apartment right then, he had locked the door behind him, he hadn't heard it open, there was _no way_ -

But he could inexplicably _feel_ them, feel eyes on his skin like a physical touch, knew with certainty that _someone was there that hadn't been a minute ago._

Curiosity getting the better of him, he uncovered his face and…

Thomas stared. 

The person stared back. 

His heart rate sped up, but he was almost too surprised to be properly scared. Because the person… looked a lot like _himself_. 

But not quite, actually. The shock was wearing off, and the longer Thomas stared, the more little differences stood out. It was undeniably Thomas’s face, but the stranger looked…just a bit older, more mature in how he carried himself. His brown hair was styled a little differently, less slapdash and more put together. And he was wearing a super soft looking cable knitted sweater in a bright sunshine yellow that Thomas _knew for a fact_ that he did not own. 

He was also smiling at Thomas. A big, wide, proud smile, like a dad who’s kid had just hit a home run. Well, Thomas assumed that was what that smile looked like. He had never hit a home run in his life, so how would he know?

“We didn’t know you could do this Thomas,” Not-Thomas said, and his voice was just a bit deeper than Thomas's normal speaking voice, smooth and sort of sonorous. 

“You know my name?” Thomas asked, figuring it would be silly to start screaming and freaking out _now_. 

“Of course. This is...It’s quite impressive, what you’ve accomplished. Well done.” Thomas felt a flicker of pride at the easy praise, but the general confusion over, well, everything about the current situation was a more pressing emotion. 

“Who are you?” Thomas continued before the man could answer, questions bubbling out faster than he could stop them. “Why do you look like me? What’s going on?”

The man held up a hand, stopping the flood of words coming out of Thomas’s mouth. “All excellent questions. Although the answers are going to require you to trust me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going to tell you a lot of things that are going to sound utterly impossible, but I need you to know, Thomas, that I would never lie to you about this. And that might be difficult for you to believe, but I-”

“Just tell me.” Thomas said, instead of telling the stranger with his face that he already _did_ trust him, for some bizarre reason.

“I am a facet of your personality, a metaphysical representation of one of your core traits, although we tend to call ourselves your sides for short. For the most part, I represent your sense of self, although I also represent your self preservation and a bit of your morality. It is…” He softened, his earlier proud smile turning into something that radiated pure happiness. “It is very nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“It’s… nice to meet you too, I guess?” The man nodded with that same delighted smile. “How is this possible? Am I...” Thomas sat up straight. The man - side? - tensed slightly at the abrupt motion, the happiness shifting to concern. 

“Am I having a mental break? Am I hallucinating right now? Am I _losing my mind_?” Thomas asked, becoming more agitated with every question.

“Whoa, easy Thomas.” His voice was so very calming, and despite himself, Thomas found himself marginally relaxing, his panic ebbing away just as quickly as it had come on. “You’re not losing your mind, or anything like that. Yes, technically I am not really here right now, but I wouldn't really call it hallucinating. You’re just using your imagination, and your mind is filling in the gaps.” The side grimaced. “Actually, now that I say it aloud, it does sound a little like hallucinating.” He waved his hand as if to brush away the idea, even as Thomas’s eyes widened in alarm. “But you’re _fine_ , Thomas. Really.” 

Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it back out slowly. 

_Whatever is going on, panicking won’t help._

He opened his eyes again. The apparent facect of his personality was still standing there, looking worried over Thomas’s reaction.

“Okay. Not a hallucination. I can get behind that.” Thomas smiled hesitantly at the side, and the answering smile was filled with sheer relief. 

Thomas relaxed, thinking back over the conversation, before his brain caught on something, a throwaway comment said early in the discussion. “Wait…” 

His Self-Preservation watched him patiently.

“...did you say ‘we’ earlier?”

“I did.” He smiled indulgently, gesturing to Thomas. “Would you like to meet the rest of your Core sides, Thomas?”

“...Sure?” 

His Self-Preservation took a step back, his eyes shining with mirth. “You might want to brace yourself.”

“What? Why?”

“HIYA, THOMAS!!”

The only thing that kept Thomas from jumping straight through the ceiling at the loud screech was gravity. Clutching his laptop to his chest like a shield, he stared at the two new versions of himself that appeared on either side of the first one.

Neither of them looked...at all like he had expected. One was ripcord lean and had a mustache, of all things, dressed in tight leather pants and a loose shirt, an open green vest fluttering as the side bounced up and down in excitement. The calmer side was dressed in ripped black jeans, a purple plaid hoodie covering broad shoulders bared by a white tank top, with bright purple tape wrapped tightly around his knuckles. He was also grinning, his smile just a little crooked. 

“Hey there, Thomas.” 

“What…”

“This is your Creativity.” the first side said, indicating the mustached, nearly vibrating side, his hand snatching out viper quick to grab the back of his vest. His creativity pouted, as he had clearly just been preparing to throw himself at Thomas. The purple side snickered, stopping when his Self Preservation leveled a side eye at him. “And this is your Courage.”

“Courage?” Thomas hadn't really thought of himself as particularly courageous before now.

“If it makes you feel better, I really prefer Instinct, instead of Courage,” Instinct said, giving Thomas a cheeky, two-fingered salute. “I’m your fight or flight reflex, mostly.”

“Emphasis on fight.” Creativity muttered, dodging the half-hearted punch that Instinct threw with ease, despite the grip on his vest.

“But I'm...not a fighter.” Thomas said weakly.

“Sure you are. Every time you stuck up for somebody getting picked on? Every time you went with your gut? That’s you and me!”

“Then...why do you look like…” he gestured to all of Instinct.

“Because he’s over-dramatic and extra, with all the subtlety of a blunt axe.” Creativity chirped, sticking his tongue out at the other side.

“You _wish_ you looked as good as me, you discount Jack Sparrow.”

“Discount Jack Sparrow is what I was _going_ for, so suck it, Instinct.”

“And you’re my creativity?” Thomas said, cutting through their bickering with no small amount of desperation. It was like listening to his brothers argue, only more disconcerting.

“Yeah! You and I, Thomas, we’re _super_ close! All those times you would write stories in your notebooks at school, every time you went on a Wikipedia deep dive and came up with crazy plotlines and characters! That was us!”

“Oh. Right.” Thomas said, a little sheepish. “I haven’t...I haven't written anything like that since high school, though.”

“But you daydream. You imagine all sorts of cool things because of me. And I also help you make boring things, like new ad campaigns at work and shit like that.” Creativity bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, clapping his hands together. “But now that I can talk to you, I can tell you about all of the really cool things I've been working on in your imagination, you’re gonna love them-”

“Boys.” Self Preservation said lowly, his eyes sparkling just a bit at Creativity’s enthusiasm, despite his chiding tone. “Let’s not overload him too much on the first meeting.”

“First meeting?”

“Yes…?” An odd look crossed the side’s face. “Unless...unless you’d like us to stay away?”

“What?” Creativity said, high and upset, his eyes darting between Thomas and his side lightning fast. “No, you _can't-_!”

“Thomas can do whatever he wants. He makes the decisions.”

“I...that's a lot of responsibility.” Thomas squeaked, wishing his laptop blocked the three sets of brown eyes trained on him. “I just met you, and you want me to make decisions like that?”

“You’ve already been making them, unconsciously at least.” 

“We’re just asking for permission.” Creativity said, his eyes big and brown and very, very difficult to ignore, let alone disappoint.

“Permission to do what?”

“Visit? Talk to you? Let you get to know us?” Instinct said, shoving his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. “You can always tell us to fuck off later, if you want.”

“I…”

What was he even supposed to say? The whole situation was so, so far past normal it seemed like he was living in a cartoon. The idea of talking to facets of his personality, who were standing around his living room looking at him like he hung the freaking moon was…

Was…

Weirdly _nice_.

He didn't have nearly the amount of time to hang out with his friends as he’d like to. More often than not he spent his evenings alone, binging TV shows he’d already seen before, wasting time scrolling through Tumblr until he crawled into bed.

Would it...would it be so bad to have company? Company that clearly cared about him, judging by the way Creativity looked close to tears at the thought that Thomas wouldn't let them come back.

And like Instinct said, he could always change his mind later.

“Sure.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll…” Thomas swallowed, pressing the words past the lump in his throat. “I want to get to know you. All of you.”

Thomas had never seen himself look so relieved in three very distinctly different ways. Creativity started bouncing up and down again, higher than before, delighted little squeaks escaping him every time his feet hit the floor. Instinct lost all of the tension that had been gathering in his shoulders, his posture loose and slouched once more. And Self Preservation had that proud smile again, the one that Thomas was sure he didn't deserve at this point but was too selfish not to take.

“Well, in that case, we shouldn’t overstay our welcome, boys.” Self Preservation said, with an air of finality. “I think it’s time we took our leave.” 

“What, no, we just got here!” Creativity whined, looking like he was three seconds away from stomping his foot. It was...kind of endearing.

“It's okay, Creativity. We’ll talk soon.” Thomas said, trying for reassuring.

It was hard not to miss the full body flinch that suddenly wracked Creativity’s body. “What? What did I say?” 

“I uh…” Creativity refused to meet Thomas's eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I actually prefer to be called Hero, if that’s okay.”

“Hero?”

“Well, I usually played the hero in the daydreams and adventures and stuff. And it's easier to yell than Creativity. A whole four syllables easier!”

“O...K?”

“Just nod and smile. That's what I do.” Instinct said in a terrible stage whisper. “Serves me pretty well.”

Hero made a loud, overdramatic sound of indignation, and leapt at Instinct with a snarl. The two of them tumbled to the ground, Instinct cackling, and then Thomas blinked, and the spot they had been in was empty.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“For what?” 

“Giving us a chance? Opening the door? Our existence as a whole?” his Self Preservation shrugged. “Whatever you feel comfortable accepting thanks for.” He glanced at the spot where the other sides had vanished, fondness shining like a beacon from his face.“I’d better go make sure they don't do any permanent damage to each other or the mindscape. We’ll be in touch, okay?”

Then he was gone as well.

Thomas blinked. Several things became immediately apparent.

The sun had completely disappeared, and the display on his cable box informed him that a little under two hours had passed since he had sat down to do Picani’s exercise.

He was terribly thirsty, like he had been talking for hours.

And his laptop, which was burning hot on his thighs, was open, when he was sure it had been closed a moment ago.

There was also a new, ten page document of text open on it. A quick scroll had him gaping, his eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline, as he reread the conversation he had just had with his sides.

Well.

At least he was keeping a record like Picani had asked, even if he didn't remember doing it.

After a few moments of deliberation, he titled the document “Sanders’ Sides #1” and saved it, closing his laptop and heading into the kitchen to grab something to drink.

Maybe Picani _did_ know what he was doing.

* * *

_“Padre? What's going on? What is that…”_

_“Just...just ignore it, kiddo.”_

_“But he’s talking to us, actually talking to us-”_

_“He’s talking to_ **_them_ ** _. And they’ve already told him about us.”_

_“Falsehood. You have no concrete evidence to suggest that-”_

_“Trust me, Lo. It’s too much of a risk.”_

_“But Padre-”_

_“It’s fine. Just...just ignore it.”_

_“But what if-”_

_“Kiddo, please. Just leave it alone for now. We’ll...we’ll think of a plan, if it happens again, okay?”_

_“Do you promise?”_

_“Course I promise.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, this is gonna be a bumpy ride.


End file.
